The Sparrow
by Us Odd Ones
Summary: No matter who someone may be, they will never be permanently turned around by a situation. Sure there will be memories, but will that person lose their nature? No. Time can reverse the effects of grief; and others have a way of bringing a changed person back to themselves. 'Sabre' seems to be approaching the end of her journey, and she is convinced she is a new person.
1. Moments Replayed

_**I will attempt to keep this short, but the current font is used for author's notes. This is written by 'Danielle/Dani' of the account 'Us Odd Ones' ( yes, we are really 3 different people). THIS chapter takes place at the beginning of the game, but the real story starts off right before the quests taking place in the Spire (with the main character at about 16 years old), and will continue past the end of the main quest line. And this does end up being some ReaverXSparrow fiction, but you guys seem to enjoy that kind of thing :D. Now this paragraph is looking too long for an author's note, so I will leave you to your reading.**_

**Chapter 1**

I run a hand through my hair, attempting to brush out the poop with my hands. The sticky white stuff is already freezing to my hair. It is a light brown, wavy and knotty-looking without having a brush. The girls closer to the center of Old Town have such nice hair, smooth and shiny. They won't tell me why. I just wanted to know what they did to it. Maybe I can figure out a way to do something similar. But Rose won't let me waste my time. And I don't think I can find a way anyways. They will yell at me to leave if I ask. They don't need the orphans. They don't want us. A few gypsies took care of us last winter. They should come back. People liked us more when they were there. Those girls would talk to me. Though they never told me how they made their hair look so nice. Maybe if the gypsies came back and took care of us, I could ask the girls. If they liked me more they would tell me. They like each other and they talk to each other. So if I am liked, they will talk to me.

Rose is talking about the castle. Living in the castle. Would... Lucien. Yes, Lucien. Would he like me? Would he want to talk to me? The gypsies were nice people. You could see it in the way they looked at everyone. Does Lucien look at people nicely? I wish I knew. But we get very few people who look at _us_ nicely. I don't think Lucien would look at us nicely. But if he has a castle, then he must be special. The gypsies were special. So he would look at us nicely. That made sense. The gypsies should have gotten a castle. I wonder if they did live in a castle, I wonder if they are living there now. That was nice of them to leave their castle for a winter to take care of us. But why didn't they take us back to the castle? Maybe they liked other orphans more. Maybe they didn't have enough room. I doubt Lucien would like us if he hasn't liked any of the other orphans. Rose said a few seconds ago that his family is dead, so he would have the room.

Maybe he would like us since our family is dead too.

But every other orphan's family is dead. Or left them. So Rose says.

The poop doesn't come out, but I'm getting cold. The fire is warm, but not warm enough. I used to wonder if jumping into the fire would be more comfortable. I tried sticking my hand in but Rose stopped me. She said I could get burned. Though as my hand got closer it felt better. Maybe I should try one night when she is asleep. I get burned by holding ice or snow in my bare hands for too long. So fire, something warm, shouldn't hurt me. I can't think of something warm that has burned me before. Tonight I can try.

"Sparrow?" Rose says slowly, smiling at me and tilting her head. I tilt my head back and return the smile, nodding. " Do you hear the noise? Can you come while I go see what it is?". Rose turns around and I follow with a skip in my step.

"Yes, yes , yes!" I sing. Until a person comes out from the corner. I remember him. He isn't good I remember. He is bad.

" So, have you reconsidered my offer?" he says, his voice scratchy and his back slouched. I was always told to keep my back up straight so it doesn't become curved over forever. I guess he never listened when someone said that.

" We'll never be that hungry, the answer is ' no' " Rose says, with disgust in her voice. Hungry? I had just forgotten I was hungry. Now I feel really hungry. Why wouldn't she get food? What would she have to do? Whatever it is she would have to do, it must have been bad. She hasn't eaten for longer than I have. I pucker my lips, the thought tasting sour. Who would ask someone to do something that bad? What would be the point?

She walks off and I slow down, staying close beside her. " You'll be back! And I'll be waiting for ya' " I hear. I walk closer to Rose and realize she is taking in very deep breaths. So I try to do the same. It seems unnatural and awkward so I quit. Rose can try for as long as she wants. It will not get less awkward. Why would she do that? It feels so funny.

I can't see anything through all the adults. Though I guess that means they won't see me and look at me funny. I undid my bun when I tried to remove the poop from my hair, so it was knotty and messy. I would think so at least, that is what Rose will tell me if I take out my bun.

" Oh.. it's just a trader..." Rose says, disappointed. " I can't see anything past this lot."

I look around at what I can see. There is what looks to be a gypsy. But in fancier robes. They were long and she has a hood covering up her head. The robe is white I think. And had pieces of red fabric sewn on. Or maybe the dress is red and the white was sewn on. I can't tell without getting too close. I don't want her to notice me. When she gives me that look it will be creepy. Scary. I don't want that to happen.

I hear the trader talk about his stuff. All of it is for five gold. I don't hear the other random things since I am focused on his voice. It is odd, I haven't heard an accent like it before. Though it was definitely fun to listen to.

" This is a truly magical mirror. For as long as you look into it, it will make you beautiful. " he says, exaggerating almost every word in his funny accent. I would want a mirror like that. If I kept looking, I would always be pretty. Maybe the girls would talk to me then. But I would always have to look in the mirror...

I hope they won't mind.

I want to know what I look like. Clearly. Sometimes I see in random pieces of glass, metal, or some water and I can kinda see myself. But I can never look for long. I can never take the little, blurry mirror with me since Rose doesn't want me to cut my hands. I have tried taking water, it didn't work very well. I kept it in my hands but when I got back home, I put it down and I couldn't see myself. I didn't try again. Rose told me that insanity was simply repeating the same thing over and over, knowing the result. I am not insane. I don't want to be insane.

A man takes the mirror and I don't hear what the trader says after that, but he soon brings out a small music box.

"...As used by the Old Kingdom rulers themselves!" I never have heard much of the Old Kingdom. Though I bet it was fun and pretty over there. I catch a snowflake with my tongue as he continues. " Turn the handle three times, and you shall be granted a single wish" I look over to Rose for a moment. Who looks in complete awe. But the expression quickly changes into something harder. Disbelief.

" There's no such thing as magic! " she declares. I shrink back. I believed for a second. But I guess it isn't real? So all those stories I overheard are fake? I guess I should have known. Rose clearly assumed I knew if she never taught me before. I continue to watch awkwardly. What if she knew that I believed? Would she think I'm dumb? Thinking this, I stay quiet.

The gypsy woman turns around. I can see her eyes and they seem to glow. Once I saw a cat with glowing eyes, it kept on running into walls and Rose had me quickly look away. I guessed the cat couldn't see. Maybe she can't see.

" We live in grim times indeed. If the young are too world-weary to believe in magic. Most children your age believe eagerly." she says. Her voice seems to echo, but I know it doesn't really. No one's voice echoes here.

I want the woman to keep talking, but Rose interrupts, " Look, I can see your eyes are bad. But that music box is rubbish" she says, with a flick of her wrists. So the woman can't see. Or she can't see well. There is a name for it, but I forget. I could ask Rose later- No. She can't think I don't know. I am smart and she should see it. So I try to think of what the word is but the gypsy woman's voice interrupts.

"That's what the seller thinks. He has no idea of what he has stumbled upon. But you have an inkling, don't you?" So it was real? Or is she on the trader's side? Seller's side? I guess it can be said either way. Or the gypsy woman is wrong. " Some part of you wants to believe its magic"

She walks away. What if it was? What would Rose wish for? The castle? To live there? That sounds right. We should get five gold. To test. Then we can tell people it's real. Then get money from it and buy a house and dinner every night. But if it did work, we would be eating dinner in a giant and warm castle! With a rich man, who would give us the food! We could live with someone who has money, and wouldn't give me the look! With the money I could get new things so the girls don't give me the look! Then I could figure out how to make my hair look like theirs.

" What..? You really think it could be?" Rose looks at me. Me..

I really think it could be, so I nod.

She stops and turns back around " For five gold coins you could have your answer". She smiles. What was there to smile about? I heard nothing funny. But clearly there was something funny, so I smile too.

Rose frowns, " For five gold coins we could eat for a week!" But if we use the coins on the box, we can eat forever in a nice and warm castle. The woman thinks the same thing. Or maybe she is reading my mind. Maybe the cat was trying to read our minds but the thoughts were just too much for it to handle. My stomach growls and my throat feels weird. I really would like food now.

" Listen to me, Rose: At the end of that week you and your little Sparrow would be no closer to your dream. No closer to the inside of that beautiful castle." the lady says, and walks away. She could read minds! How else would she know about the castle! I don't want her looking inside my mind anymore. So I take a step back.

ZzzzzzzzzzzzZzzzzzzzzzZzzzzzzzzzz. There. She was gone. Now she can't read my mind anymore. How were the Zs treating you! I bet she likes thoughts full of Zs. But now she doesn't know anything more about me. Unless Rose kept thinking about things...

"Did you let her see your-" I start, but Rose cuts me off." Do you really think it is real? I bet we can get five gold pieces... Then we can really be out of here after all!" she says. Her brown eyes gleaming. " What is there to lose, little Sparrow?" I smile. Her smile was so nice and bright and her hair looked so pretty in the snow. You could always see her hair. Mine blended in with my surroundings more. I smile and lean on the heels of my feet as she continues and walks away.

She goes to a guard and I follow. I don't listen. I look at snowflakes. They were so pretty. So perfect. I wish people didn't stomp on them. They are fragile and break. I like it when they pile up really high after a storm and you can see all the little flakes. They always fit together perfectly. Like one of those puzzles the gypsies would work on while Rose and I were doing things. Except the snowflake puzzle had holes in it. But the holes always look like they are meant to be there. They always look perfect.

We walk up to a little place with walls and a roof, but no door. Just space filled with a town guard. The guard doesn't look at us funny. He likes us. He trusts us. He asks us to find warrants and we get a gold piece out of it. He trusts us. I smile and skip behind Rose.

I see a board. A painting. I always liked paintings. They looked like the real world but prettier. I think the man with the box and hat asks us to pose in front of the camera. Who wants us to pose in a camera? Rose was pretty. It was probably because of her. I would just stand there and ruin the picture with my knotty hair. Though he wants us there. And we get money out of it. So we don't object.

I walk up nervously behind Rose and she ' strikes a pose'. I copy it. I stand turned to the side with my hand sticking out just like Rose. Puckering up and closing her eyes.

I see a flash of light. We get off. Rose takes the gold.

Already; we are almost half way there, right?

I see one of the girls with the bouncy pigtails like Rose. Except her hair is red and curly. Red hair would be so pretty. Sometimes I wish I had red hair. I'd always stand out. Red hair always look so pretty; so if my hair were red maybe my hair would look nicer. Rose runs. Why is she running? But she follows the kids and I hear some squeak.

"Hey! Rex's got a dog and he's gonna kick the crap out of him!" I hear. Why hurt a dog? What could the dog have done to you? The dog could probably do it again when you try to hurt it.

I follow.

" What the hell do you think you're doing?" Rose asks, standing in front of Rex. Rex is tall for Rose's age. Rose is only a bit shorter than him. He runs a finger down the middle of her chest down to her stomach. He looks at her, " Having a bit of fun; what's it to you?" His hand stops and he uses the other to send a punch at Rose's face.

I take out a paintball gun that the gypsies gave to me. Why would he hurt her? He wasn't going to do anything else for a while.

I hold up the gun as he takes out a wooden sword.

"He just hit a girl!" I hear.

Rex grins at me, " Yeah; and I'm about to hit another!" I raise the gun. I hope it hits his head. I really do. I pull the trigger.

There is dark red paint between his eyes. I wish the color was different. I don't want to seem mean or cruel. But I know it isn't blood. I guess the rest of the kids already don't like me. There was no point in caring about what I do and what they think of it. Rose stands and look at Rex, whose hand is covered in paint. He is almost sat down against a wall.

"Thanks, I could have handled him though, " She glances at me and then glares at Rex.

" Yeah! That'll show him! Nice job!" the red-haired girl says to me. I smile and my hand shakes as I try to put the gun away. I wish I wasn't shaking. But I don't care that much I guess. She likes me. Everyone likes me. Maybe later they would tell me about their hair.

Though the best part was; they were yelling. They aren't angry though. They are happy. It's because of me. They like me. The orphan girl with knotty hair.

Rex whines, and I am happy. Really happy.


	2. An Attempt at Stalling

**Chapter 2**

Later in that day I remember Rose making her wish and the sounds of the music box. I think I can repeat the song to this day. The memory is so clear. Just like the memories of that night. I stumbled out of my cot then saw Rose was awake. Which foiled my plans of testing the warmth of the fire using my hand. I had forgotten to stay up and wait for Rose to fall asleep. The melody of the music box stuck with me; replaying over and over in my head. It's easy to stay obsessed with something when you are that age; but just as easily you can forget and never give a plan a second thought. After that Rose had me follow her and the two guards to the castle. I ran ahead of the butler when we arrived; and was immediately scolded. Then we went into his study and he talked. He asked ' What are you?'. I haven't figured out the meaning to that yet. But at the moment, I intend to do nothing more than list events and thoughts to keep these memories fresh. Theresa always told us - as in Hannah and I - to replay moments in time. Important moments. Which definitely meant the negative moments and memories. Though, at a point they stop being so negative, and they become more of a fact you begin to memorize.

Maybe if Theresa never told us to repeat the thoughts and moments in our minds, I would have never gotten over Rose's death. I would have kept her diary with me forever. Instead now I burnt the thing, and let go of all connections to Rose. All connections to Old Town. Luckily, Derek hasn't talked to me since my first day back. And my last day seeing those roads again.

Back to reciting facts. He had asked about what we were, and we had no answer. He had no answer. He wasn't really asking us. So I sat down and waited for him to go through his thoughts, that was what most adults did when they asked a question like that. If I answered, they got angry. Rose-

I skip that part. I always skip that part. So right after I stood up, I was flung through the window. Shattering it into a bunch of small pieces. But in one of those pieces, I saw myself. The vision wasn't blurry. Since no windows in a castle are dirty. But I saw my hair. It contrasted against my skin, which was pink at the time. I was about to cry, and it was cold outside. Perfect ways to have my skin glow with a lightened shade of blood. My hair wasn't curly like I had always wished. But it wasn't frizzy or sticking out every which way, it was neat. Messy because I was falling, but it wasn't knotty. It looked perfect to me. Then my shoulder started hurting, it made a sound, which mixed with the sound of wood snapping. Despite that, I was relived. Though that relief was quickly taken away by a nothingness. A nothingness I would have only guessed happened if Theresa hadn't told me. Though then again, that 'nothingness' could have just been some figurative crap Theresa told me which reflected the truth, a riddle I haven't sorted out yet. But for now, I am still going to call it a 'nothingness', because I have been told that I fell, and passed out.

"Little Sparrow, you have completed all tasks which you wanted to, so now is the time to travel to the Spire. I would advise you to prepare everything that would stay here in advance. For you may not be seeing it again for a while" I hear, the sound moving from the guild seal and into myself. Bringing a feeling of annoyance.

"Haven't I told you I don't go by that name anymore? Have you not been paying attention to your precious hero? The title is ' Sabre ', Theresa" I spit out. The title was fitting, and Theresa has told me it was an old one, back from the Hero Of Oakvale's time. Also, I can see myself as a cat.

"Oh yes, Sabre" she says the name slowly, still getting used to the new name. Maybe this will keep the talk of heading to the Spire away. I don't want to leave unknowing about what will happen in the future. " Though as said, Hannah and I will be waiting next Friday. When the next ship docks in Oakfield. You have spent enough time here, lounging and doing nothing of any worth. Now you _must_ go to the Spire. So, I will be seeing you there, _Sabre"_

" You say I must? We will see about that," I say. She could make me do nothing, and that wasn't about to change just because she feels as if I have been 'lounging' for too long. I can make my own choices, I can easily defy her wishes or predictions of the future. _Easily. _In time, she would see that.

Maybe she should have seen that a while ago. That fifteen year old girl plucked from a gypsy camp was in no position to begin fighting. She was small, only practiced real battle. I cringe and look back at any fears I had faced on that birthday. Fear of death. Fear of losing another, her boyfriend at that time. Fear of something as small as beetles. But those disappeared when she stepped into the light. Disappeared, if only for a few hours. But they were back just as quickly, they haunted her dreams that night. Nightmares only stopped by a voice she respected, a voice that pulled her out of any focus she was in. But those nightmares didn't have to come so soon. What if she were older, maybe the nightmares would have been easier. The nightmares _would_ have been easier. And Theresa knows it.

But this isn't worth pondering too much about. I look over at the guild seal at the edge of my bed. I am inside an inn, correct? Westcliffe. So I probably shouldn't leave any possessions in the room. Though I am sick of this guild seal. I do not need Theresa nagging in my ear about the Spire as I wander. So I place the seal in the bottom drawer and press my palms to the knobs. I mumble and smell the wood burning . I drag my palms along the outline of the drawer, leaving it glowing. No one can touch it now, so the seal will most definitely be safe enough. The heat would last long enough for me to take a stroll.

There is a mirror in the room. I take a look.

My hair is blond, with dark roots. Almost black. Where the ends are almost white. My bangs are growing out too long, and they all decide on flocking to the left side of my forehead. Almost covering half of my eye if I allow it to spread out that far. Covering up a fair forehead, along with thicker eyebrows that match my roots. I know that the bangs also cover up a line of red spots along my hairline. I move my bangs to the side again, which allows my eyes to be seen. They're a dark brown that almost blends in with my pupils. With a darker line surrounding. Big eyes which don't seem the same age as the rest of myself. They are child's eyes. I am no longer a 'child'. The townspeople agree, adoring my name change. Somehow they all know I used to be Sparrow, though I always hoped that they wouldn't remember since I changed it only a week or so after Thag was killed. They remembered, but enjoyed the cat's name more.

There is a dark brown veil hanging over my eyes with white tips. Lower, I wear a brown and spotted blush. Which the stylist was supposed to cover up. Well now that makes two reasons to visit a salon. My lips are pale, I have almost no visible upper lip. Though my bottom one is very noticeable without any lipstick.

I wear a thick leather 'corset', which isn't actually a corset, more of a leather vest which was bound tightly. With the same basic design. The leather is a reddish-brown, which from afar makes my eyes look lighter. The cloth or string is a light blue. My shorts and thigh-high boots are all the same way.

I wear no hats or masks, though I have a pair of black gloves to keep the trigger of my gun from indenting my finger. Which stays in a small bag that hangs from my jeans. I have a katana, and a pistol laying in the corner of my room. I grab them and head out of the inn, locking the door to my room.

The bar is small, as is the bartender. Who wears a red trader's moustache and a white apron over a blue shirt. Here, where the people by a guns trigger and sword's handle, people tend to grow taller. Though not too much taller than myself.

I let myself grin at many of the patrons, who are wasted at noon. Their lazy postures and slight (or not so slight) lisp is very amusing. Though the amusement gained from that isn't near the amount have a few seconds later. A punch is thrown, and I suspect the bartender doesn't care. I guess I would assume this is average. They put on a good show for myself and all who care to watch, since there are no walls. The bar is up against a wall of wood, which is supported by a small cliff. Without the walls, the fight can easily spread to the outside. As usual, no disciplinary action will be taken. And that is just fine for myself. The fight stays between two people for a few minutes, but many others watch the yelling and oddly entertaining fight. The two are skilled in some way, so it is _slightly_ more than a simple bar fight. But interest fades swiftly.

There are two men, a skinny one with wavy and unkempt dark brown hair; and a heavier blond one, who is a few inches taller than the brunette. The brunette lands a hit near the blonde's jaw and he returns the action. As the brunette takes a step back the blond spits. The red puddle lands on the floorboards and the red drains away quickly. But the pink mucus takes a while longer to drain into the rock beneath the bar. Then a redheaded girl hits the side of the brunette's head with a board of some sort. Sending him to the ground, a few people after him, and a few people after the girl. With that single hit, the tavern erupts into chaos quickly.

I know this place will be a mess shortly, so I sidestep towards the road, and decide to head towards the exit. Another person also seems to be thinking the same thing and follows, soon deciding that I am walking too slowly. I hear him take a step and he appears on my left, towards a small patch of forest. On my right there is a small cliff which is currently blocked off by the gate which is an entrance and exit to Westcliffe.

I guess I expected something of the sorts, I was tracking where he was, wasn't I?

My hair gets tugged at harshly, quickly, and like a helpless dog I follow for a few steps. I let go of my hair, which I was attempting to hold in place, and bring my shoulder back. I rocket it forward at the attacker, or where I think he is. I keep my eyes closed, as I always do when I'm in close quarters.

A pain on the inside of my knees has me quitting. I sit down on my knees and keeps my hair over my face. My scalp aches, I don't worry about my legs since I think their numbed. I reach out a tentative hand ahead of myself, I remember passing through the bushes so no one but the attackers should see me. I feel wood, I am facing a tree. Another one of my hands slowly rubs up and down my scalp to keep the pulsing I feel reside. They will be coming or doing something more any second. So I grip the tree, but stay in my position. Lazily sitting on my knees.

" I can burn this area, this tree; oh so very quickly if the situation demands" I state firmly and shake my head, sitting up and looking around at them. Three men, clad in black.

"Oh what? I'm afraid I didn't hear ya', little voice ya' got" one of them says. I can feel my ears warming up, along with my palms. Though I mean for my palms to get warmer. 'Little voice'..

"Little voice? At least I was properly educated. Or at least I can say things" I stand, and look straight at him. My hand waves in front of my face, glowing an orange-red in the dark area. I glance at the others, "Now, what is it you all want? Or, or..." I pause and before the taller man can say anything other than 'the', I continue, " I think there is a better question. But I don't think I will be wasting the breath."

"Sir! Why are we-" the one who mocked me starts, hushed by the third man. The taller one continues, " We are the Society"

"Oh? Them? Assassination? There really is no need, haven't you all bothered me about this before?" I question, and smile. They don't want the interruptions, and I was enjoying their attempt to be serious. These interruptions are clearly getting on the tall one's nerves, based on the way he continued.

"You have connections, and we are allowing a second chance." his voice is heavy, like it may stop or quit because it weighs too much. I run a hand on the inside of my knee, and take out the little dart they shot into it. It is small, and a simple dart. My legs were not bleeding much, so I take out the other dart and leave the blood alone to clot the wound on its own. Then I look back at the man I have come to known as "Mr. Blank". A pretty ridiculous name in my opinion. Though a job like this may keep Theresa away for a small moment, so why not take it? There is no reason why I have to go through with it, but I can keep connections up and have something to do.

"Go on," I look at Mr. Blank. "I will listen" He nods and continues, handing me a slip of parchment. Sealed by a thick, dark red ribbon.

"Look at it later. But know that the action must take place in the daylight, and it would be good to have a bit of audience, yes? He lives here, so that should be simple" he says and smiles at me. I gulp, the smile is familiar. An attempt at comforting from a person that knows nothing of comfort. Just like Theresa's. I roll my eyes, " I'll make an effort to do so. " and waltz out of the bushes, seeing that the fight has only escalated. Now punches are being thrown outside the bar, in the streets themselves. Though I need to get back into the bar, and there is no way I am going to fight my way through, or wait. I slip on my gloves and aim my pistol at a pillar, holding up a small roof. The pillar is thin and will break easily, and it is one of two pillars. So when it breaks, the ceiling will lean downwards and most will run away, and a few will flock to the destruction.

My gun goes off, and I feel the stares as I walk into my room. I grin, that fight was all a bunch of ridiculous nonsense anyways.


	3. Due Dates

**Chapter 3**

His grey pupil is small, and you could miss it if you didn't know it was there before. It almost blends into his blue, desperate eyes.

This is a giant crowd. I stand, surprised that there is enough housing for all of them. There may not be; oh well. It's not like I ever see some of these people going to sleep, or walking to a home. Most of them probably sleep in the woods when they know no one will go looking for them. Much too embarrassed to let anyone know they sleep there.

I grin as people yell, scream, and tear things from the merchant's hands. How have I not done this before? Or admired the perfection of chaos? No one should miss out on this, it all seems random at a first glance. But it all ends up resembling a play, like every action has been perfectly planned out and staged for weeks. Though this is much more natural than a play, no actor has the skill to replicate this, no director can make this possible for the stage. Plays are clearly false, but this is as real as it ever could be. No genuine anger can be portrayed by someone who isn't truly going through it. The rage of the crowd is only an audience, waiting for the climax of the show. The death of a long-time slaver.

The stars? Easily myself, and this 'slaver'.

I grin.

At least that is the impression I have put them under. A rumor from a hero can do a little, and can easily backfire. Anonymous posters and newspapers are much more reliable, yes? Word travels quickly in a small town. Rumors and news spread like wildfires.

I raise my gun and swiftly nest a bullet in between the trader's eyes. The yelling of success is much less interesting than that of anger. Anger is chaos and lack of thought. Though, some of the wittiest thinking and acting I have seen has arisen out of pure anger. This clamor of success is just meaningless and boring noise. Absolutely meaningless.

I assume the body fell quickly. I see a man walk off from the scene. The bottoms of his boots are dripping red.

Frowning, I walk away from the scene, they can deal with the body on their own.

As many say, there is a grain of truth in every lie. The merchant once was taken by slavers, and it seems that he made a contract with them and left. The contract simply being, they were to get 25% of his profits; and if his profits were to drop somehow, they were to take him back. He wasn't a 'slaver', but I'm sure if the people knew he hadn't told on the slavers then many would have still been eager to have his head; but this way was much more entertaining. I am disappointed that I ended it so early. With a bit of research in Brightwood, this information was easy to obtain, but I was still hoping for a bit more chaos.

I am to leave after I pack up. In Oakfield the Assassination society will be waiting, along with jobs (Specifically one with the hermit-like sculptor. You can tell she doesn't get out much just by looking at her, the dress is terrible. How does an artist not see something of that nature?). The wooden door to my room creaks open, revealing a perfectly organized room, neatly made bed, and a small note.

Not a single sign of my chaos. A sharp breath comes in, vision and thoughts blur as I open up my drawers. Nothing.

Nothing...

This is no thief. I can't think about it long enough to decide why I know this. I just do. The door. The drawers. There was no more lock left, and the drawers were scorching when I left. Who could have..?

I fix my posture, which was hunched over a drawer holding a single item. My blue guild seal. This was Theresa. There is no doubt. So she plans to send me away? Without consent? To that hell hole for Avo-knows long? Letting me- _Making me_ waste away for that damned mage?! I don't even know who he is! Then Theresa assumes that I will work for _him_, just to find a mage? Why do we even need him? I can kill the bastard myself if I need to, though she thinks I need help. No help is needed; and she will realize that before I go _anywhere. _

I grab the note and open it.

_Sabre,_

_The Spire is awaiting, along with Garth. I am anticipating your arrival. Your items will be waiting with Hannah there. Have a safe journey._

_Theresa_

I imagine a shade approaching. Shaped as Theresa, looking at me like Theresa. Wearing every detail to her wrapped up and mummy-like feet and shoes. To her bright and glassy eyes. Which are a silvery white. Her pupils match the whites of her eyes, and they glow. Not the way blind eyes shine, but in the way the spirits inhabit hollow men. Giving them a faint glow all over, but the spirit lights up a corpse's eyes, trying to escape them to whatever comes next.

She speaks. At the end she gives a weak wave, and before she disappears she smiles. The smile that I related to comfort; or an attempt at comfort. The sides of her lips curl up and her eyes thin, tilting. This smile isn't comfort. Her eyebrows dip downwards slightly, which originally gave a sense of sympathy. This isn't sympathy either. This is intimidation and amusement. Her lips curl up like a dog's, and her eyebrows tilt down, but the very inside tilt up slightly.

This expression is new. Unsettling. I wipe it off her smug face.

* * *

The auburn bridge stretches out in front of me. Rain pounds it, as always. It seems like miles before it ends. Leaving a dark blue scene around it and further out. The blue sparkles and moves. The purple and orange sky gives a beautiful background to the thing which I dread the most. A partly completed tower, which anyone can see in the distance. A single shadow on the horizon, slowly climbing upwards. But no one makes any move to question it. Only the ignorant venture there.

"Physically strong but mentally weak" the holder of the voice stands with a giant figure, blurs at the end of the bridge. They have been waiting, of course. I start to venture on the wooden bridge. My feet barely make a sound when they land, but my dog's paws move quickly. Then he passes me. Now sitting attentively beside Hannah, I realize how intimidating they all look. My dog is on the verge of growling, maybe he senses what I plan to do. Hannah is smiling, clueless. But she stands up straight and towers over me. She is a hero of strength, she isn't supposed to be tall. I don't want her to be tall; that isn't how it is supposed to work.

Theresa is smiling. I crush the letter and sprint.

" You bitch! Having me-!" My fist flies, and soars smoothly. I prepare the other and launch myself forward. I don't end up moving. And Theresa is gone. I try to turn but my feet aren't on the ground. So I kick and yell.

" Get your damn hands off me!" I attempt to punch Hannah, but I don't extend my arm far enough. I turn myself and push her arms, which are wrapped around my waist, bringing me upwards. I can't tell what she's saying, and I quit trying to hit her. I can't find Theresa, I can't find Hannah's face. I press my eyes closed and kick blindly. Every time I feel my feet hit something. I bang my hands in front of me.

Someone lets go and I touch the wood. I crawl for a second. My eyes want to stay shut. I press my hand on the ground and spring up. I force my eyes to open just a small bit. I run. My foot is stopped by a stiff and soft bulge. My vision spins to the side and my ear is crushed. The wood strays from my ear, to be replaced by air. Tickling the inside. I swing at it then rub my ear aggressively. The feeling is annoying, and pain is more desired.

I hear a thump as I land on the ground. It doesn't feel like wood. And it doesn't feel like grass. It feels like... moss. I twitch upwards. Hannah is frowning at me; she looks like she wanted to say something more. She slowly shrinks, I don't want her sympathy. So I run, though a small arm stops me. I fall back down, sitting on a ledge of some sort. My middle finger flicks up before I realize why Hannah is getting smaller. There is water beneath me. I am on a boat. Which is most definitely heading to the Spire. I tense and slide backwards, the moss of the boat soft against my cold hands. Now I can hear it. I can hear all of it. The laughter, the taunts.

"Little girl? Ha!~_We know what Lucien is planning_!"

"Now what the hell's _she_ doing here?!"

"Someone looks _scared"_

"Looks like anyone can win the Crucible these days, or maybe they just wanted a _pretty _victor"

"_She isn't even that good-looking_"

One voice isn't here to hurt me, but it still sounds like it. The sympathy is worse than the taunts, "Now, _sweetie, let's get you somewhere to rest..." _the man who stopped me says. His nose is bloody after one swing. He knows that wasn't helping anyone. I'm glowing blue and red when I leave for the inside.

The diner-like area is spacious and brighter than the outside. The auburn color calms me for a moment. Theresa wasn't there. She disappeared. She didn't want to see me. Why? Of course that coward wanted nothing to do with me. She probably saw every move I made before and knew what I was going to do. But she couldn't face me? Couldn't watch me leave?

Couldn't watch... All of _that._ My teeth grind, but a person walks in. So I stare and hope to look like I'm admiring the painting in front of me. It is a winter scene, and birds are flying. Which doesn't make much sense; they should be gone from Albion by that time. But the painting is nice nonetheless.

"Just look at this place!" I hear a male voice, with a Westcliff accent. I look at him and find he is small. Much tinier than most men in Westcliff. He was shorter than myself, and just as skinny with barely any muscle to be seen. But I guess I can't see any muscles very well even if there are some. He is all covered up with thick, black cloth and leather. He continues: "We've done well castin' in our lot with Lord Lucien. Whatever he's plannin' me and 'Lil are gonna be set for life..!" He talks quickly and grins at me, his grey beard hiding some of the smile. How is he happy? How is he _glad_ he is doing this?

I guess it helps his girlfriend or whatever. Maybe he doesn't care how long he stays, as long as she is okay. It must be amazing to be that selfless, to not care what happens to yourself and only care about specific others. Because they are more important.

I haven't found someone more important than myself yet, and I find myself easier to read and keep track of anyways.

" 'Ey! Sorry 'bout what all happened out there. But think about how lucky you are 'bout Winning the Crucible and getting in here, yeah?!"

"So who's Lil?" I ask.

"She's my wife. Three kids we have. Been loyal 13 years. After this we can all move into a nice house in Bowerstone and the kids can live out their childhood. At least little Timmy will; the other two will have probably grown up enough by then..." He sounds sad, and I try to understand it. By the time he gets back, he will have missed two of his kid's early childhoods and only have one to save from Westcliff. How long does he think we will be here? Or how long _he_ will be here. I will be escaping as soon as possible.

"Have a name?" I ask.

"Bob, not a fancy one, but oh well." he looks at me and smiles again, looking at the painting that is now behind me. I nod. People pour into the room.

"Oh here she is? Like to tell me what the girl is doing here; going to The Spire and all?!" many people laugh.

" We all know she's here to be Lucien's bitch!" I walk down a hall swiftly and when they follow, I close the door to a room harshly.

I hear them bang on the wall, I hear them scream for the little girl to come out.

"B-but she won't come out. She doesn't want to come out.."

"She doesn't want to hurt, she doesn't want to move.."

"A-and she doesn't want to face it. She can see it, she doesn't want the ship to move. She doesn't want to face the tower. She doesn't want to face the circle in the middle of the room. She doesn't want to face the Seeress. And she doesn't want to face the madman..." 'She', myself mumbles. My lips tremble and refuse to continue. Sometimes words need to be said aloud so the person who said them can hear them. The person who needs those words the most.

Soon the yelling and banging fades, bringing my conciousness with it.

* * *

"_Well, here I am to say my goodbyes. You know the last thing I said to my father before I went to the ritual cave..? I can't remember... I can't remember if I said goodbye that morning or not. That's the funny thing about goodbyes, you never know when you'll get another one. "_

_ - Hannah_


	4. The Spire

**Chapter 4**

**The game the crew was playing continued. Our 'Sabre' was but a girl when surrounded by warriors. None much taller, though all of them stronger and particularly merciless. The mentally weak have no issue picking on the smaller, the ones that seem to be weaker. For they only see the entertainment of doing so, they do not realize any impact it may have. For in their minds it is all a play. A comedy to exact. Where the main characters are themselves, and the cat hiding in the corner. Waiting for the perfect time to escape. _Hoping_ for a time to escape.**

** As they ventured close to the Spire, they could hear the pulse. Pounding the waves which brushed against the wooden boat. A boat that wasn't too sturdy, but that hadn't stopped it from being used time and time again. It never sunk, or even thought about the possibility. On quiet nights no person on the ship could sleep. The boat creaked. The pulse continued, strong and loud; and the waves had no issue continuing on. After a week of quiet nights, they saw it. The spire. The shadow. The reflection on the water. They also heard the pulse, which grew louder with every inch the boat progressed. Everyone expected the Spire to look welcoming, or at least more welcoming than it was. It towered over everything. It was black, with bridges being created and walls started. From here, you could see large beam of blue light which moved upwards. It continued moving upwards, though no one ever saw it come out the top of the tower. No one has ever seen it pile up at the top either. **

** The boat entered a small hall, and along with other sounds, you could hear the metal of the spire turning and moving. With every pulse it did so, and it would get quieter and quieter until the pulse came again. In this little hall torches were used to light up the way, but the darkness had a way of eating the light up, so only its source really could be seen. The hall became a bridge, which was filled with water every moment, and poured just as much out at its sides. This kept the small river flowing on.**

** You would think there would be more ocean under the bridge, since they never really hit land. But there is no ocean to be seen below. Maybe the dark ate all that up as well. There were a few things the dark didn't eat up though. The sky was one of them. Sabre looked up and saw the storm. But noticed that no rain had fallen to the boat. **

** The ship docked. A small plank of wood is laid out to transport the recruits to the floor. Sabre stood up and attempted to run away.**

* * *

The door to the inside is locked. It was locked. There is no way out of here, is there? I am doomed here untill Lucien finds out two of his heros are here, and kills us. He will kill us too, he has tried to before.

Two hands grasp my shoulders and shove me forward to the plank. I stumble downwards. The shove me again and I move willingly. They continue to do so and I smile. They put pressure into their pushes and keep my focus away. I can't see anything clearly. I couldn't hear anything past 'Get a move on'. But they don't seem to care. So I let them continue to rocket my body forward. My vision surges forward, then it stops and I close my eyes. My body gets a small second to rest before I am pushed again. I rocket forward and stumble over my own feet along with others. I almost fall backwards trying to stop myself, but they push me forward again.

Then again.

And once more. I grin and close my eyes. I hear his voice. I hear the madman, the target. I hear his voice and tears start to come. But my mouth can't work itself out of a smile. I am not crying because I am happy; I am sad, I am scared. So I should be crying like it. But instead I smile as the tears slide downwards at a painstaking rate. One slides into the corner of my mouth. I lick it up. I like the salt. I can hear the noises. I can feel the noises. But the salt pushes that away for a moment. But a small taste of salt can't keep the ringing voice away.

" The world outside these marvelous walls is a corrupt, rotting husk. Reason is absent. Instead of order, there is only chaos. Chaos does not punish evil nor reward righteousness. Chaos cuts innocent lives short. And we're to accept this as fate. I beg to differ. You stand in the center of a great instrument of change. With it, I shall remake the world. And my creation will be unrecognizable in its perfection. But my will alone is not sufficient for such a monumental task. It is only through your toil, through your labors, through your conviction, that Albion will be transformed. Do not fear the sound you hear, the throbbing you feel beneath your feet. These sensations will soon be as familiar as your own heartbeat. And so long as your heart continues to beat, all that I require of you is obedience. Now, Sleep..."

I am silently crying harder now. Though it isn't just for the obvious reason. I'm not really sure what else I could be crying for though.

Soon my hearing fades, and everything else does too.

* * *

**A great light spread across the room, one the darkness did not immediately consume. **

* * *

"_The world outside these marvelous walls is a corrupt, rotting husk. Reason is absent. Instead of order, there is only chaos. Chaos does not punish evil nor reward righteousness. Chaos cuts innocent lives short. And we're to accept this as fate. I beg to differ. You stand in the center of a great instrument of change. With it, I shall remake the world. And my creation will be unrecognizable in its perfection. But my will alone is not sufficient for such a monumental task. It is only through your toil, through your labors, through your conviction, that Albion will be transformed. Do not fear the sound you hear, the throbbing you feel beneath your feet. These sensations will soon be as familiar as your own heartbeat. And so long as your heart continues to beat, all that I require of you is obedience."_

_ -Lucien Fairfax_


End file.
